Babysat
by Exilo
Summary: On a distant planet, a chieftain is charged with protecting the life of a high ranking San 'Shyuum. And if he has anything to say about it, those humans are going down. One shot. New continuity. R&R please.


**After watching the clusterfuck of the anime episode "the Babysitter", I was…inspired and motivated to write a response to it. Characters are based on a forum in my Halo RP, where you take yourself and transform yourself into a character. Maybe a bit Stuish, I know, but please give it a chance. I like to think I've proven myself as a writer by now. The Prophetess of Wrath appears courtesy of Avisu. And thank you Insidious Harbinger for beta reading.**

_**Babysat**_

Exilius kneeled, before setting his hammer down parallel to his body. Next, he removed his helmet, and set it beside him on the other side. Third was his Spiker, placed beside his helmet. Only then, unarmed and exposed, vulnerable head offered in tribute, did he utter the few words: "Noble Prophet."

The Prophet of Regret took a deep huff of his pipe, reveling in the soothing breath that filled him so richly. His cheeks puffed slightly as he held the sweet taste, then exhaled. "Chieftain, I am glad to see you."

"The honor is mine, noble Prophet. How may I serve you?" Exilius was still young, stil wearing the brown fur of youth on his hide. He wore a chieftain's armor, green and trim to the body, as all chieftains wore.

"I need you to aid someone." The throne that Regret sat in glowed. Exilius grew a bit nervous. The defensive measures that San 'Shyuum carried with them were well known. And though he was confident he did nothing to earn the Prophet's irk, he was a bit fearful until a hologram finally shown, projected from the front of the seat. Why did he even fear the throne? The dozens of Sangheili Honor Guards that surrounded Regret would dismantle the chieftain with less than a word. For now, Exilius ignored them, and looked to the hologram. It blinked twice before finally coming into focus.

"Another San 'Shyuum?" Exilius asked. The hologram showed one, though the Jiralhanae chieftain's knowledge of them was not good enough to identify…her…Yes, he could tell she was at the least a female.

"Yes. The Prophetess of Wrath."

Exilius nodded as if he knew who was spoken of. "Rescue, noble Prophet?"

Regret took another huff of his pipe, taking it deep and holding it within his mouth and inflated cheeks, then releasing slowly. He must have been nervous about something, to smoke in the presence of the chieftain. Well, perhaps he just saw Exilius as another Brute, not worthy of the mask he put on for the rest of the Covenant. The Honor Guards were perhaps his closest confidants. Or, as Exilius' first thought, something was bothering him more than usual. "Escort. You will accompany her to the planet Martylo. See that no harm comes to her. Martylo is in a sector we still seek to wrest away from the heretics. The planet has many artifacts from our gods, so we must take it foot by foot. Many Sangheili are there, fighting, dying for our cause. The prophetess shall travel there to spread her kind words and good grace, invigorate the warriors to swarm the unbelievers and crush them."

"Of course, noble Prophet. I understand." Exilius stood, retrieving his armor and weapon and setting them in their place on his body.

"May the Forerunners watch over you," Regret said kindly.

"Thank you, noble Prophet. No harm shall come to the prophetess, as long as I draw breath."

Exilius turned slowly and left the quarters of the San 'Shyuum, leaving him to puff and smoke on his precious pipe.

After a brief walk, he left the High Prophet's area of living and moved to the colonies of the lesser prophets. Reaching the designated room, Exilius knocked on the doorway. When the door finally opened, Exilius took several steps back, and again lowered to one knee in a show of reverence. "Noble Prophet."

He heard a giggle, and lifted his gaze to look at the one he addressed. "You can stand up," the female said, and taking that as an order he rose to his full height. The first thing he noticed was how short this one was. Not that normal San 'Shyuum were even close to his height, but this one was just tiny. She wore a blue robe with black trim of a somewhat simple design, and a small silver tiara with a blue gem center crest. Skin was an odd, pinkish brown, a sign of youth in her kind. San 'Shyuum skin paled with age, not unlike his kind's fur.

"So you're my new babysitter?" she asked.

"Bodyguard," Exilius corrected. "The Prophet of Regret has charged me as your bodyguard."

"Father is always so overprotective of me. And he gives me the most boring assignments. What do I have to do now?"

_Father? _Exilius' brow shifted. "We are to travel to Martylo and bring faith to the troopers."

She sighed. "Sounds boring. I guess we should get going though."

She did not use a Gravity Throne, as the higher ones did, or even a Gravity Belt to aid her in moving. She just walked. It was most likely by her age, she didn't need the extreme aid of machines to move. She seemed chipper in fact. Flighty. Bouncing along instead of walking dignified. Again, perhaps her age. Or perhaps this was normal. Exilius realized he had never really dealt with San 'Shyuum, aside from those who governed. Perhaps she was closer to a civilian than a leader.

They would not be traveling in a fleet or even a capital ship, but a converted agricultural unit, dubbed _Bountiful Harvest._ It was just one of many things that seemed off, but Exilius figured there were humans in the area. The Covenant may have preached the humans were little less than vermin, but most knew the truth. Humans were savage creatures, cunning and vicious to the point that Exilius was almost proud to call them rival. No fleet would be sent, only the small ship so that the humans would not be tipped off to _who_ was entering the sector. San 'Shyuum were ripe targets.

Two Sangheili were serving as the pilots, and additional defense. Honor guards, by their orange armor and the energy pikes they carried. Exilius spent several minutes staring them down, they stared back, before he noticed that Wrath was lifted into the ship's belly through the gravity lift. Exilius snorted, turning his back and heading up after. He had just touched down on the ship's insides when he caught glimpse of the blue tail of Wrath's robe. He followed through the hallways, until reaching the personal area, where she disappeared into a personal room. Exilius hesitated in knocking, and thought of just standing beside her door as a guard. Thinking better, he knocked slowly. "Prophetess?"

"Come in," she said, and Exilius did as he was told. It was rare for the larger races to be stationed on a ship such as this. The ship was not built for him. He had to squat down and then just slip through the door. Wrath was sitting on the bed, designed for a San 'Shyuum perhaps since it was her size. These ships usually had a resident San 'Shyuum to guide them. "What is your name?"

"Exilius," he said casually.

Wrath sighed. "Why does father think I need a bodyguard. Who is going to kill me?"

Exilius' eye lifted again. "There are heretics and unbelievers. One of many trials we must face. Tests of faith. Fear not, they will be crushed."

"I like your armor. Where did you get it? And where is your pack? Don't you guys usually have big packs?"

Exilius growled, but he had been asked a question by his, more or less, superior. "My chieftain was incompetent. I killed him and took his place. My pack were cowards, to appease him as long as they did. I left them behind."

Wrath nodded, but slowly. "I'm…I'm sorry."

"It is nothing to be sorry about," he growled. "They were weak. If I may ask, Prophetess, your pack?"

She shrugged her petite shoulders. She was so small, and so thin. "Father, he's the only one." Exilius nodded slowly. He was not aware Regret had sired any children. He watched her, noting a slight quiver of her lip. "Chieftain, do you think I will be in danger? I mean, father is worried about the humans. They're…he is worried about what they are doing to the relics, and that we have not taken control from them yet. He won't say it, but I have noticed him smoking and drinking more. Oh, I shouldn't have said that. He is not proud of his addictions."

Exilius shook his head. "As long as I draw breath, no harm will come to you. If the heretics, or their monsters, come against you, they shall be crushed by my hammer, and cut by my blade, and stomped by my heel, and ripped by my teeth."

Just like that, her pluckiness returned. "Thank you."

***

The planet Martylo was originally colonized by the Kig-Yar. It was similar to Eayn in climate and terrain, and the Hierarchs saw no problem in giving it to them. When sacred ruins were discovered in the more remote regions, the Kig-Yar were charged with securing the artifacts, which they did with out much of a problem. Somehow the humans snuck deep into the sector, and secured bases, and routinely wrested and struggled with the occupying force. They didn't seek the win the sector or take the planet. It was just something to distract the great war machine of the Covenant. The humans knew they would die on the planet, but if they went down, they would take Covenant soldiers with them. And perhaps buy their home planet another precious day. Again, he had to admire the humans.

The humans must have seen the value the Covenant placed on the artifacts and ruins. That had been where they landed. They slaughtered the Kig-Yar and San 'Shyuum who resided there, and spent nearly two months striking out at the Sangheili who had been sent to eradicate them.

The small ship entered the sector without trouble. The human's presence was only on the ground, as any ships they decided to send in would be almost immediately destroyed by the superior Covenant crafts. The _Harvest _entered Martylo in an area of complete Covenant control, so no stray AA units might down them. The ship landed without trouble. The honor guards were the first to leave, lowering down to the ground and securing a small perimeter of two meters. There were other Sangheili there, Sangheili were the majority of the military force of course, and the honor guards were greeted openly. Exilius came down next, and there was an odd silence that overcame the platoon. Then Wrath, who Exilius caught as she slid down the gravity pull like a slide. She giggled, looking up to him, and he set her down.

First there was a great banquet to celebrate the San 'Shyuum's arrival, and a loud festival that lasted long into the night. Fires burned, and the Sangheili had elaborate dances and rituals, meant to invoke the spirit of the ancestors. Exilius, not much interested in the swaying body of a Sangheili female dancing around a fire, instead took a squad of Unggoy and went on patrol. If the humans were watching this base, which they most certainly were, they would notice the roaring pyre in the center of the base, glowing against the darkness of the sky. The humans would know something was up. And instead, the Sangheili were intent to dance and drink. Fools.

The planet was mostly forest terrain. Exilius carried a torch and with six or so Unggoy at his blindside, he entered the woods. The Unggoy scurried and whined about how cold it was. He didn't feel it much. He didn't mind the cold. He preferred the heat as it reminded him of his home, but he could survive anywhere without protest. And it was a beautiful night. The stars twinkled and the moons glowed, and there was even a touch of a meteor shower that he could just make out through the thick canopy above. He thought of home.

Smelling something in the air, Exilius lifted his hand, and the Unggoy came to an abrupt stop. Not by their own will, instead the lead one bopped into Exilius, the one behind that Unggoy bopped into the front one, and so on and so forth until each had fallen back and landed on their rump. Exilius groaned, rubbing his eyes, and ordered them to split up and search the woods for any trace of heretic. He couldn't shake an odd scent. Something above the lushness of the fauna, something bitter and snarky that made his head hurt.

There was still one Unggoy at his side. This one quivered and shook, clinging as close to the Jiralhanae as possible. He kept batting it away with a stiff knee, but it just went right back to clinging, so finally Exilius tolerated it. He illuminated the darkness by swinging his torch back and forth, but saw nothing still. Carefully, he drew the Spiker on his belt, and looking to his side, noticed that the Unggoy was carrying a simple plasma pistol. For all the good he would do. The torch was not only killing his sense of smell, the glow would alert any humans of his presence. He licked his hand before closing it on the torch and snuffing the flame. He threw the torch aside and used the moon's glow instead, as well as his snout.

Hearing a slight crack of a twig underfoot, Exilius instinctively booted the Unggoy into the trees. The tiny creature went flying, rolling into the thick foliage and covering, as Exilius twisted. He had been in luck. The human, with his black armor and reflective sheen of a helmet, had made a noise. A machete was in hand, he must have sought to kill the chieftain silently, should any alarms be raised otherwise. The human froze a moment, shocked that the giant had turned around. It lasted only a moment. Regaining his will, the human let out a battle cry and charged. Exilius caught the human by the throat, lifting him off the ground, and thrust the Spiker forward. The sharp blades of the bayonet pierced the human's chest. To muffle the scream, Exilius twisted the human's head. The loudest noises were a wet pop and groan as the human tensed and then lay still.

Exilius turned, looking around for more humans, but there were none. Shuffling into the underbrush, he kneeled before the Unggoy, who was groaning and rubbing his head. Exilius hoisted to the Unggoy up and set him back down, before silently gesturing for him to follow. The human was coming from the east. The base was to the south, and the ruins that the humans infested was to the north. The humans, at least a squad, were mobile. He squatted before the human corpse, looking it over. A silenced SMG, machete, and silenced pistol. No rations or survival supplies. The humans were traveling fast and light. They must have seen the pyre, and this was possibly a reconnaissance team. The Unggoy, meanwhile, seemed fascinated by the corpse. He set the plasma pistol at his side, and instead took up the human's SMG, holding it a bit awkwardly, but now at least he would probably be able to do something. Growling, Exilius looked around for the best vantage point on the Covenant base. Deciding to head east and see what he found, he moved at a low trot, the Unggoy shuffling and hurrying to keep pace.

When the Unggoy squealed, Exilius drew his Spiker and snarled, looking around, ready to kill. He caught glimpse of the Unggoy, scurrying into the underbrush on all fours, and the chieftain pondered what was wrong with the little thing. Finally he followed, and found the Unggoy kneeling over one of his fallen. There was a faint glow of luminescent blood spurting from the fallen's opened throat, and a whiff of methane on the air implied a tank had been broken. Not the cut-throat one's tank, Exilius could see that much. There must have been another corpse around her, left to suffocate in the poisonous oxygen.

Exilius squatted, taking the Unggoy by the back tank and hoisting him to his feet. He clawed and kicked, scratching and screaming for the furry titan to let him go. Exilius took him around the throat in his other hand, holding him between the thumb and index finger. Still, the Unggoy cried, wailing loudly. Exilius growled again, thinking of popping the little creature's head off to silence it. Any human walking by would hear the wailing. Just as he was about to, the Unggoy took a deep breath, gave one last whimper, and was held limp and still. Exilius put him down and gestured for him to follow again. The Unggoy scurried back to where he had dropped the SMG before following.

There, the scent. That pungent tang of sweat, grim, and the gunmetal humans made their weapons from. Exilius growled, again wordlessly gesturing to the Unggoy to keep pace, stay low, and only provide covering fire. Exilius rested his Spiker on his belt, and took the hammer off his back, routinely sniffing the air. His green armor, black under suit, and brown fur let him blend in relatively well in the dark woods. He could smell the humans growing stronger. Reaching a cliff edge, he squatted, moving low and careful along the edge of a cliff, until he saw the slight glint of olive green armor. One of them? He had heard of these warriors, but never faced one himself. They were said to be some sort of monsters the humans created, but that did not concern him. These were humans. He could smell that.

Readying his hammer, Exilius gave a loud roar and charged. The Spartan turned to face him, and barked something in his lumpy tongue. Two soldiers, both wearing that same black armor as the other he had killed earlier, shuffled out of cover and started to run away. So that was their game? Sniping. The cowards. He wanted to crush the whelps, but the Spartan's death came first. The Spartan rolled to his side to avoid the swing, drawing an assault rifle and peppering the chieftain with shots. Exilius cringed, but the ballistic armor mostly protected him. He shifted, swinging in a horizontal arc. The Spartan ducked suddenly, and pushed the rifle to the chieftain's chest, before emptying the remainder of the clip into him. The thick torso armor absorbed the impacts, but the shock sent him staggering. Rather than take the time to reload, the Spartan leapt forward and jumped, pushing both feet into Exilius pectorals. Again, he was pushed back, a sharpness in his chest. For such a small creature, the Spartan was strong. He landed, and shifted his weight, before punching Exilius hard in the stomach, the fist hitting the weaker under suit. Pain shot through him. A sickening feeling settled in his stomach. It hurt. The human actually hurt him. He felt blood and gorge rise in his throat, but swallowed it back down. Struggling, he took the Spartan by the back and pull him forward, before lifting his knee and crushing the Spartan's chest. Exilius twisted, throwing the Spartan into a tree, which actually broke in half by the Spartan's impact.

Exilius' chest felt broken, but the Spartan wasn't moving, so he assumed he wasn't much better off. Taking his Spiker, and spinning it to use it like a dagger, he leapt onto the Spartan to drive the blade into the demon heart. The Spartan caught him by the wrist and shifted the blade's aim, and instead it drove into the ground. The Spartan clawed and thrashed, drawing his own blade from a sheath on his chest and swung wedging it into Exilius' chest, again, with such precision it slide easily not just between the armor plates, but between his ribs. Exilius roared, smashing his helmeted head into the Spartan's. A large crack ran across the yellow visor. He pulled back, smashing his head down again, and again. The chieftain pulled the Spartan's hand away to slide the blade out of his ribs. It was agonizingly slow, and the Spartan maintained resistance until, for a fourth time, Exilius smashed his helmet down and again crushed the helmet. He twisted, retching the Spartan's hand and forcing it down. The sharp blade broke through the cracked visor, and there was a squishy noise that bubble up. The Spartan tensed a moment, and then lay still. Exilius rolled onto his side, roaring and snarling. He stood up, though faltered and nearly collapsed. He stumbled for his hammer, and though his body was screaming, his rage was a far more dominant force. The sniper. That was his only thought. He would kill the sniper. He would kill the sniper. He would rip him apart and feast on the flesh and blood. He would tear him limb from limb. His vision blurred and a red hue came over it.

He charged forward seeking to rip the sniper limb from limb. The sniper and spotter hadn't gone far. They needed to take their shot, and the sniper was lining up his sights when Exilius snarled and swung his hammer madly. He had almost reached the sniper and crushed him, when he felt something firm around his neck. He looked back slightly, just making out the greenness of the Spartan, and realized he was holding him in a tight choke hold. Exilius snarled and growled, trying to reach back, but he couldn't reach the smaller warrior, who clung to him tight. Exilius wheezed slightly, finding it hard to breath, feeling his thick throat start to yield and break in the grip. In his blind stumble, he threw himself off the cliff.

He found himself falling, then land hard on his front, only lifting his arms in front of his face to brace the impact. Rolling still down the steep incline, he landed on his back next, and he felt the Spartan's break beneath him, and the grip around his throat start to yield. He rolled and tumbled, each time bracing himself and pushing off when he landed on his front, and smashing down with the aid of gravity onto the Spartan on his back.

In the end, he landed on the Spartan at the base of the cliff. He groaned, prying the Spartan's hands apart, and feeling a sort of limpness in the arm. Exilius crawled a bit, panting and groaning, bleeding badly from the hole in his chest. It hadn't been a deep wound by virtue of how thick his chest was, but with all the tumbling and fighting, it had ripped open. His stomach and neck felt broken from the punches and the choke. Before standing, he looked to the (possibly) dead Spartan. The knife was still there, dug into his head. Exilius pushed his palm into the handle, and drove it down until it hit the resistance at the back of the Spartan's helmet. Still not sure, he stood and lifted his foot, then dropped it with all his might onto the Spartan's cracked helmeted head. The metal yielded, then the skull, until there was just a wet pop and bubbling brain up between the chieftain's toes.

Exilius collapsed, the adrenaline dying down, the red melting out of his vision, and with it his ability to ignore the wounds. He had killed the Spartan, but the snipers were still up on the mountain, taking their shot without him to interfere. They had one target, they had to. Only one. He had failed. He had failed his word. He had failed the Covenant. He had failed Wrath. He fell back, dazed and wounded. He had failed. The weight of it crashed upon him, worse than any blow the Spartan could inflict.

He looked up to the cliff again, expecting the flash of a sniper rifle any moment, but instead he saw two helmets and a SMG rolling down the ramp. Then the Unggoy, doing his best to climb down. He slipped several times and rolled a bit, before catching his balance and continuing. Matters were complicated by the fact he was trying to carry the Gravity Hammer with one arm, climb with his other arm and feet. Exilius stood and walked over to the base of the cliff. He caught the Unggoy when he slipped again, and set him down. The Unggoy, quickly and fearful, offered the hammer up as if tribute to a god. Exilius took it with slight recognition. Then, the Unggoy gathered the two black helmet and gave them too.

Exilius smiled at the gesture. He nodded to the Unggoy with the slight grin, before turning to head back to the base, the Unggoy walking proudly beside him. It was much easier for him to keep pace, now that the chieftain was limping.

It was long travel. Exilius' wounds ached with his each step and breath. But Jiralhanae were naturally durable and strong creatures. His sore wounds would heal with time. And the Spartan was dead. He found himself smiling at that.

When he came back to the base with only the one Unggoy in tow, carrying the human made SMG no less, he earned the looks from several Sangheili. They weren't his concern though. The Unggoy broke away and scurried to his brothers to tell the tale of his exploits. Exilius let him. Exilius' only concern was the Prophetess of Wrath, who had taken up quarters in one of the buildings the Sangheili had erected for their stay. She looked to the chieftain when he entered, cringing slightly when she noticed his bloodied wounds and dented armor. "C-chieftain, are you alright?"

Exilius nodded weakly. "Yes. And you?"

She smiled softly. "Yes. I've a feeling because of you no less."

Exilius shrugged passively. "It was my duty, prophetess."

"Har," she said. "My name is Har. My real name." She placed a petite hand on his. "Thank you."

That was odd. He did not know that San 'Shyuum had "real" names. "I am Exilius," he said, not sure how to respond.

"I know," she said, and smiled that soft smile. Then she did the oddest of acts, something that made him so uncomfortable, he wished the Spartan had killed him. She put her arms around him and gave him a hug. Then she released, and sat on her bed. Exilius turned, and left the room.


End file.
